


Dreams, Passions, and the Royal Ballet

by lemoncellbros



Series: Harry Potter [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys In Love, Dancer Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Does Ballet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Supportive Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been neglecting his passion for dancing ballet for many years, his pointe shoes buried deep in his trunk in the closet he shared with his boyfriend, Harry Potter.One night, Harry arrives home to find him dancing once again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Harry Potter [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797925
Comments: 2
Kudos: 124





	Dreams, Passions, and the Royal Ballet

It’s been about an hour since Harry left the flat that he and Draco share to attend to some auror business. He tried to rope Draco into going with him, but he denied on principle, craving the solitude of their empty apartment and the embrace of his pointe shoes hidden under the bed; Pointe shoes that Harry doesn’t know exist. Draco waited for the lock to slide into place before releasing a deep sigh and snatching the box.

Gently, ever so gently, Draco peeled away the lilac tissue paper that had protected the slippers for so long, and was hit by the simply divine smell that only pointe shoes can carry; blood, sweat, perfume, and tears, with hints of dreams, encores, and flowers, plus a million more things. 

Slipping into them was just like going home; the shoes being so broken in, their years in storage could do nothing to sever the bond between Draco and them, meaning the material fit snug and supported him in all the right places, just like they’d always had. Draco laced them with reverence, and began a series of stretches throughout the house, using scattered furniture to make up for the barre he lacked. 

Draco had been a dancer ever since he was quite young. Originally, it was upon his mother’s insistence that he enroll in ballet classes, just like his french classes, citing their Malfoy family history as a reason to why. But slowly, class after class, Draco found himself really becoming lost in the music and movement, and his passion for dance continued to grow, and grow, and grow.

That is, until his enrollment in Hogwarts. His parents banished the idea that he continues with his dance education, instead thrusting a broomstick and sporting robes into his hands and demanding that the Malfoy name be upheld in this next generation of Slytherins. 

All those years at Hogwarts passed so fast but also too slow, and the whole time, Draco’s pointe shoes were buried in the depths of his trunk, hidden far from sight should any professors or elves come snooping around. For 7 years, they just sat there. Through death, through trials and tribulations, through war, the shoes just sat there. By the time Harry and Draco decided to move in together, the trunk containing the slippers hadn’t been opened for almost a decade.

So that’s how Draco found himself, headphones in ear and pointe shoes on, dancing to the beautiful theme of ‘La Bayadere’ all across his flat with not a single worry in the world. Technique after technique flowed from him leading him in spins, twists and jumps through the living room and kitchen. He became so lost to the art that he didn’t hear Harry open the door, nor did he see him drop the bag of takeout he’d brought with him.

Harry had never seen someone so magnificent. There was no music in their dark apartment, but it didn’t matter; the way Draco was moving cast some type of spell on him because he couldn’t take his eyes off him. His long lines, delicate features, and sheer talent… it was enough to kill Harry dead on the spot. The spell was soon lifted, however, when Draco became aware of Harry’s presence with a shout;

“Bloody hell! Why are you here, I thought you were working until much later?” Draco tried to sound upset, but he really wasn’t. This secret was becoming burdensome to carry.

Harry waved him off, “We figured things out pretty quick, it really wasn’t a big deal. But, love, when were you going to tell me about how astonishing you are?! I barely caught three minutes but I think I would've died watching you be that breathtaking one second more.” 

Draco scoffs, “Always the flatterer, Potter. That’s surely some of my worst work, I haven’t danced in years.”

“How come? Why now?” Harry cocked his head to the side.

“Well, for one, you’ve met my family. They would much rather a keeper who hates the game rather than a dancer who’d die to perform. I couldn’t dance for fear of them finding out, one way or another, so these shoes have just been sitting at the bottom of my trunk all throughout Hogwarts.” 

Harry nods encouragingly, “and for two?” Eager. Always so Eager.

“Well, there was no danger here. Narcissa can’t steal my passion from beneath our living room rug, now can she? This felt like the time… If you’d rather I didn’t dance here -”

Harry clamped a hand over Draco’s mouth before he could finish what he was about to say, “Let me get this clear: you’ve restarted dancing now because you feel safe enough to do so, right?”

Draco blushed and mumbled something like yes before Harry dragged him into a sweet kiss. 

“Then there is nowhere else in the world I’d rather you dance.” 

“Thank you,” Draco says with disarming earnsty.

He sheds his slippers as Harry goes to recollect their abandoned dinner, his heart singing for this pure man. For someone who had been denied love, acceptance, kindness, or really any positive treatment for the majority of his life, Harry had the exact right words to assuage his boyfriend’s fears. 

They enjoyed their Chinese food together at the dark oak table, speaking in low voices about dreams, passions, and the Royal Ballet, of which a young Draco had wanted desperately to be a part of. Throughout the entire meal, Harry gazed at the dancer, green eyes alight with naked adoration. 

When they finish, he dismisses Draco’s attempts to help him clean away the dishes, a habit from his childhood he’d yet to shake. Draco doesn’t fight him on it, though, because he knows he will never win that argument, and it is somehow soothing to Harry. He watches as the boy who lived flits around their kitchen, humming as he returns dishes and silverware to their rightful places. 

They migrate back towards the living room where Harry gently grabs the pointe shoes, inquiring, “where had you been keeping these, anyways?”

“Trunk under the bed.” 

Apparently this was the wrong answer because Harry frowns at it. He looks at the slippers in his hands and turns on his heel wordlessly, beelining to their shared bedroom and the pegs on the wall where they hung their coats. He tied the ends together carefully and hung them on the last available rung, then stepped back to survey his work, looking content.

When he turned to smile at Draco, he found his boyfriend dewy eyed and looking at his feet. Always one to think he’s done something wrong, Harry hastens to his side, “Are you not meant to do that with them? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mess with them--”

He’s cut off by his boyfriend’s lips on his. With one hand on the nape of Harry’s neck and the other on his cheek, Draco tries to wrap every ounce of gratitude and love he can offer into this tender kiss. 

When they pull apart, he looks deep into green eyes and says, “I never thought I could love anyone like this… Never thought I’d meet someone who would make me want to dance again.”

That night, they fell into bed together. And a few months later, Harry whispers to Draco during their first dance as husband and husband, ‘You make me want to dance, too.'


End file.
